


We Won The War (What Was It All For?)

by Rainbowrites



Series: Snapshots [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7354441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowrites/pseuds/Rainbowrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry would rather fight another dozen death eaters than sign one more piece of damn paper. He doesn't know how to live in this world that he thought he'd die protecting</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Won The War (What Was It All For?)

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from HAMILTON "Non-Stop"
> 
> original: http://livesandliesofwizards.tumblr.com/post/72521814031/harry-makes-it-5-weeks-before-he-has-his-first

 

Harry makes it 5 weeks before he just. Can't take it anymore. He hurls himself out of his office ( _his office_ ) without even considering apparating out make his flight a little less shameful. Without quite knowing how, he ends up in Diagon Alley. Magic, he supposes.

Ron flicks him between the eyes when he shows up at Weasley’s Wizard Weezes. It’s dark inside, has been since the Battle of Hogwarts, but Harry knows where the side door is. “Merlin’s Shorts, Harry, you couldn’t have kept it together another week? I had 5 galleons riding on you making it 6!”

“What.” Harry says flatly, still caught in the doorway between the smokey warmth of the store and the frigid wind of the outside.

Ron sighs, and pulls Harry inside. Harry’s skin goosepimples at the sudden change and he has to take off his glasses to rub the fog off them. He can’t see anything for a few moments, everything bright colors and strange shapes as Ron talks. 

“You’ve been running yourself ragged mate, plus the Ministry always makes you go a bit off your rocker if you take yourself too seriously. Which you do,” Ron says, poking Harry in the stomach. Harry has to consciously relax his grip on his wand at the sudden touch and swallow down the curse on his tongue. He doesn’t remember going for it.

“Seriously, Harry – take a breather. Go take a walk. Have a butterbeer or two, or three! Hell, have a firewhiskey. Go take Ginny to the movies, and then write me 10 inches on it because I want to make sure you’re actually  _watching_ the movie.” Harry finally manages to put his glasses on. When he does, Ron’s face is painfully open. “The war’s over Harry. You don’t have to save us all anymore.”

Harry decides not to tell him that his breakdown had mostly been him throwing the _never ever ending_ stack of papers out the window as he screamed that he didn’t save the world so he could spend his life on _paperwork_. That he was supposed to be dead, and not have to deal with this shit anymore.

Harry thinks he might have made his secretary cry. He hopes not, she was always so nice – she even brought him cookies that she made from scratch, no wand work necessary. He thinks her name is Amanda Cartwright – her son had been a Ravenclaw two years below him. It’s so _weird_ being the boss of people so much older than him. Maybe he should be used to it, but he never felt like the boss of anything while he was fighting Voldemort. That was mostly Hermione.

(Ben Cartwright’d died – not at the Battle of Hogwarts, but from his wounds a few days later. Amanda kept his hair in a locket. She’d showed him the first day, after she’d thanked him for what he did. Perfunctorily not tearfully thank god. It’s also weird being surrounded by the memories of the dead, but he’s used to _that_ at least)

“I need a drink,” Harry sighs, and makes a mental note to apologize to Amanda tomorrow. He already knows he’s going back. He thinks wistfully of getting on Buckbeak and flying somewhere hot and sandy, and then just never coming back. It shouldn’t be harder to live after the war than during it.

“Damn straight.” Ron says, and hustles him into the backroom, where he seems to have built a magical still. It looks like something out of a horror movie, but Ron seems affronted when Harry laughs so he makes an extra effort to compliment the booze.

He has no idea why Ron is making his alcohol when all either of them would have to do is step outside to be offered a free drink. Or a free dinner. Or a free broom. Or a free _night_ , with anyone they so much as glance at.

Then again, maybe he does.

“Ya see,” Ron slurs at him after his sixth goblet of whatever it is the still is burping up. It’s orange as a sunset and burns like molten gold going down though, so Harry’s not complaining. Better than their last goblet, which had been white and stung their eyes until they started crying. Every goblet is different ( _magic_ , he still finds himself thinking exasperatedly, even after all these years) but Harry makes this one last. He doesn’t think he can bear the idea of another white one. Ron’s eyes are still red and puffy as he says again, “Ya see.”

Harry waits. Ron mumbles something into his booze, then tips over and falls asleep.

Harry kicks him. It takes a few times for him to hit the right Ron – he’s managed to duplicate himself somehow. _Magic_ , Harry thinks disgustedly. “Ya see _what_ Ron?” He asks the one that’s moving the least. 

“Everything,” Ron breathes. “Ev’ry time I close my eyes I see it.” He opens one bleary eye at Harry. There are still tears in it, and Harry wishes they had stopped before the white booze. “Why though?” He asks. “We won, didn’t we?” It’s an honest question, and Harry tries to tell him _yeah, mate, we won_. It’s harder than it used to be.

Harry throws up on him instead. Luckily it seems like he hit one of the magic Rons, because Ron just rolls away and emerges unscathed. The last thing he thinks before he passes out is that he misses Quidditch. At least there, you can see the score and know who’s really won.


End file.
